This is a story about a woman having a wank. I know I’ve already told you one story about a woman having a wank, but this one’s very different. Imagine, please, a woman lying on top of the duvet on her bed, sometime around midday, curtains closed so she doesn’t shock the neighbours, rifling through her memory banks for a sexy idea that’ll help her get to a quick orgasm before she has to sit back down at her desk. She settles on something that fits the mood, so brings her fingertips to her mouth – spitting on them gently so as to start warming up her clit.

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I’m a huge fan of first times, almost as big a fan as I am of the awesome Missy of Focused and Filthy, who has one hell of a first to share today: recently she experienced her very first sensual tantric massage. And I have to admit I am wildly curious about this kind of thing as well. Giving your body over to someone else to massage and pleasure slowly and intensely… yeah. Sounds hot. But even though I knew it would be hot, I was not prepared for how stunning it sounds when Missy explains it in detail…

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Apropos of absolutely nothing, I’m going to tell you a story about this one time (ages ago) when I fucked the furniture. Specifically a bed. And technically, properly, I guess if you want to get right down to the nitty-gritty detail of the thing, it wasn’t just ‘me fucking a bed’, it was ‘us’. Because while I shagged the bed with my excellent and adventurous vagina, the man I loved was having a valiant go at simultaneously fucking me up the arse. Let’s do this.

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This glorious story about being used as a set of fuck-holes is written and read by the fabulous Sundial, and originally appeared on her website. 

And here I am, a nearly naked shackled X bent at the middle. The lower part of the X is formed by my gorgeous new spreader bar. My ankles are wrapped in the supple leather that are its cuffs, unable to move. My torso is laid face down on the table. My arms are stretched out, tits squashed under me. My wrists are secured in leather shackles which you (rather ingeniously) attached with belts to the legs at the far end of table, forming the upper part of the X. There is no give at all, I cannot move.

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He’s pretty quiet in bed, so I’ve become used to turning up the perception dial on all the senses I use to tell whether someone’s enjoying themselves. Most notably when I’m sucking his dick or giving him a gentle hand job. I listen more intensely for the softer sounds he makes, and have trained myself to hone in on those little moments when his breath catches: if I tease the head of his cock with lubed-up fingers, for instance, or get the pressure and speed of a particular stroke just right. I place my hands on his thighs or hips, where the muscles sometimes tense as things start to build, or I press my whole body against his, to get an even better idea of how my moves are being received. I check in with plenty of ‘is this good?’s and the occasional specific question like ‘tell me which is better… gentle or firm?’. It’s a far cry from someone’s hands gripping my hair and shoving my throat onto their cock or loud moans telling me what a filthy slut I am, but I’m getting used to these quieter, softer responses. I’ve started to tune in to the subtle shifts in how he tells me he’s having a good time. So when I introduced this subtle guy to a sexual feedback technique for shy people, the fact that he used it – and the way that he used it – made me drench my knickers in an instant.

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